Chapters
by dezagirl
Summary: Happierfic/humorous.What if Simon and Piggy lived? Furthermore, what if Simon became part of a huge ridiculous resistance movement? Where are all the chocolates! What's with all the sadness? And, why in the world is there a dead squirrell? 1st chap up.
1. Chapter 1

Chapters

Summary: Because with all this angst, we really need some happier fic.

A/N: Starts out funny, light, fluffy. May turn darker, or lighter. Hey, my original plan was to have Simon dual-wielding guns and being a lawyer and piloting a mecha...and such...that might still happen XD Whatever happens, enjoy the show and review with ideas.

…

LETTER RETRIEVED 10/14/54

_To Ralph,_

_Hey, how's it been?_

_-Simon_

This is the only remaining evidence of any correspondence between Simon Harling and Ralph Townsfield. Since then, the survivors of what is documented as 'Case 17' have had no notable connections to the pending 'Case 589-A', dealing with Simon Harling's various criminal charges as of late.

Please contact Penny Ramms for more information.

-Sam Baker

P.S- This guy seems to be on to something here.

…

CHAPTER ONE- In which a grown up Simon wishes Piggy would stop hogging the candies (Known here-forth as 'Chapter One')

"Piggy!"

The rather chubby twenty-two year old turned around with an expression of surprise on his face and a fistful of expensive danish chocolates in his left hand.

Simon had been out buying some groceries, and Piggy had deemed it fit to visit his friend. By 'visit', he meant break into his house and watch TV. After all, Simon wouldn't mind. That is, Piggy was sure he wouldn't mind until the moment in which the door opened to reveal a plastic-bag laden Simon.

As such, Piggy's surprised expression turned to embarrassment as a chocolate dropped to the floor from his palm.

Simon's facial expression was one of mild amusement. "Oh, so you come to visit me for the first time in two months and you raid my candies?" he asked jokingly, balancing plastic bags. "Well, then, how'd you get in? I don't think I left a key under the rug or anything..." The soft-spoken man looked mildly confused at this until an ashamed-looking Piggy confirmed that he hadn't.

"I broke in," Piggy admitted.

"...Why did you deem it fit to break in?" Simon asked, thoroughly perplexed.

"Well, I thought that you wouldn't mind." Piggy now looked a little sheepish. "And besides, I made sure I didn't damage the door getting in, although you might need a new lock."

Simon merely sighed, striding into the nearby kitchen and dropping the groceries onto the counter. "How in the world do you learn these things in college?" he asked, a bit stunned.

"Correction- how in the world _can't _you learn these things in college?" Piggy replied, smiling broadly.

"You're in college to major in _English, _for crissakes," Simon muttered, chuckling wryly afterward, his head popping out from around the kitchen's doorframe. "You should be analyzing some sort of depressing book with some sort of symbolism instead of breaking into houses."

The light banter was a comfortable cover to their rather bloody pasts, in which both boys had almost been killed. As such, it was rather uncomfortable to discuss their childhood; they both agreed to try and look to the future unless it were absolutely necessary to talk about past events.

"Yeah," Piggy muttered darkly, popping another chocolate into his mouth. "I think I have a terrible enough impression of humanity already."

Simon merely shrugged, setting down the bananas and then walking back into the living room, careful not to knock over anything. "Well," he murmured thoughtfully, sitting on the large leather couch, "it seems I'm in a bit of a pickle."

Piggy looked over from his candies in curiosity, raising an eyebrow. He grabbed the bowl of sweets, much to Simon's dismay, and sat down on the couch, eating and staring intently. "Welfsh, thgnn, why dn't y- t'll m'?" he asked, the crammed chocolates skewering his words.

After a brief look of mild irritation from Simon, he began. "Well, for starters, the government is chasing me. Stop speaking with your mouth full, please," he commanded afterward. Piggy paused his eating, swallowed, and popped a single chocolate into his mouth.

"Well, that's no good," Piggy observed, chewing.

"No, it's not," Simon conceded. "I'm just glad to be living in a small place like this. Nobody suspects any other motives other than- Piggy, please, you're dropping chocolates all over the place- other than me just being an average everyman."

Piggy shrugged. "Anything else?"

Simon looked rather agitated at the boy's calm mood. "Well, there is the fact that I haven't spoken to Ralph in over a year and I have no clue what that insane boy Roger is doing and also the little detail that Jack's probably gone and drunk himself into oblivion. Not that I care," he muttered afterwards, mouth forming into a pout-like expression.

Piggy sighed. "Well, my life's not so easy either," he muttered, poking a chocolate.

"Oh, really? I thought it'd be rather easy and fun to drop into friends' houses whenever you please and raid their sweets," Simon replied.

Piggy chuckled. "My aunt's a bit agitated with me as of late."

"It may have something to do with you going off for months at a time during college breaks, not explaining anything and coming back with a faint scent of gunpowder," Simon replied thoughtfully.

At that, Piggy burst out laughing, almost so hard that his glasses nearly fell off his nose. He pushed them back up, grinning. "Perhaps," he replied cheerily.

"Well, it seems that your nickname's particularly on-the-spot today," Simon noted dryly.

Piggy's grin faded. "I told you to call me Peter," he snapped. "It's my real name, you know."

"I do," Simon replied. "I never said anything about you being-"

"Yeah, well, I have my own nickname for you." Piggy-Peter gave an irritated look.

Simon merely chuckled inwardly. "And that would be?"

"It's so terribly atrocious about you that I shan't dare repeat it." At this, a smug grin formed over Piggy's face.

Simon's face looked horrified as realization dawned on him.

"YOU'RE-"

From outside the house, a very angry Simon could be heard yelling that if Piggy ever called him that again he'd personally shove a boot up his butt.

…

"Ah! Isn't this wonderful, Eric?" Sam prompted.

"What with all these-"

"-beautiful girls-"

"And delightful conversation!" Eric finished, laughing as his arms trailed around two young women, both giggling and blushing furiously at the twins' behavior. Sam grinned, two girls near himself as well. "Indeed," he agreed, "who knew that we'd be discussing sociology, of all things!" One of the girls giggled, slinking away from Sam's grip. "Well, y'know, it's very interesting!" she replied.

Being a twin had its perks.

…

The waitress grimaced as Merridew walked in, the twenty-two year old lanky and rather gaunt in the face. His deep red hair lay in his face, his eyes seeming completely hopeless, a large worn book under an arm.

She hated the boy coming in here. All he did was order a coke-and-rum and sit at the window dejectedly, watching people with this terribly melancholic expression while reading that bloody book. She'd peered at it once when taking his order and it was a depressing history book. How wonderful.

"What will it be today, sir?" she asked, her Scottish accent being slightly more prominent.

Instead of the usual sad little 'coke-and-rum' deal, however, he withdrew a photograph from his pocket.

"My name is Jack Merridew," he whispered hoarsely, green eyes alight with some sort of twisted happiness. "I work for a certain group and I need to find this man. Have you seen him?"

…

Percival grinned, fourteen and full of life.

...

"I love you too, Mother," Ralph said dully as the aftereffects of a vodka binge wreaked havoc on his stomach.

The phone number was still in his pocket, the pencil smudged.

...To call or not to call. That was the question.

...


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two- In which things might get serious, Roger neglects proper feeding habits to stalk- er I mean admire from afar- Jack, Ralph's all like 'OH N~OOOO," Simon wants all of you to GTFO, and Piggy wishes weird things would stop happening (hereforth named Chapter Two.)

MY INTERNET IS BACK UP FFFFFF YES

Oh, and it also seems that now Jack is a Deadpan Snarker when around people he finds pleasant/and or amusing. So...character derailment? ;

…

Simon had always been slender, small for his age, petite.

He wasn't exactly proud of this fact. He was four years younger than the other boys, and this compounded with the previous fact had made him pale in comparison to the other boys on the island; he was shorter than them, and much weaker, and had a very sickly complexion.

He also talked to to dead pig heads, but that was a completely different matter.

The point being, he was small. During recent years, however, he'd grown taller but hadn't gained enough weight. As such, Piggy was always trying to force-feed him bananas and milk, claiming that it would help Simon in his endeavor to 'bulk up'. When Simon asked if he thought he was going a bit overboard, Piggy had shrugged and replied that if he was then at least he wouldn't be the fattest kid from the island anymore.

Simon had merely sighed.

But now, Piggy had left his house, promising to return Saturday for chocolates and conversation. He was utterly alone, with terrible British soap operas he held in much disdain playing on his TV.

He'd already read through all of the books in his house, and he had no clue what to do.

So he sighed again, and decided it looked like a rather nice day to take a nap.

…

Jack liked his job at the 'EFA'.

It was fun to go around acting all depressed, or cheery, or this and that, make-pretend that he was somebody else just to spy for information. Unlike the other resistance groups, EFA took matters into its own hands. Jack liked this, as well. The 'cases' he was assigned were interesting, and with the EFA's pay he could afford a nice house, an interesting career and he could sharpen his lying skills.

He also had access to high-clearance documents about 'Case 17', which would be impossible to obtain without his job. He was understandably disturbed by the contents.

The red-head boy had just been assigned a mission;

find Simon Harling. Interrogate him, and work with him for the resistance.

Jack was rather surprised at the tacked-on ending of 'work with him for the resistance'. Meek Simon? A member of one of the resistance groups of Britain? He could scarce believe it, but accepted the mission nonetheless.

The only bad thing was that Roger wouldn't stop watching him.

As it were, he was arranging the various photographs and information in the case folder, after having finally left that wretched bar in Scotland. Roger, as it were, was staring at him intently and peeking at the contents of the folder.

Roger's violent tendencies had simmered down much from the island; however, he took the more violent jobs and missions, that EFA had a duty to carry out. Roger didn't speak of these missions, and Jack didn't ask.

"That's interesting," Roger muttered, his black hair obscuring Jack's view as he leaned over to stare at the case's contents.

Immediately, Jack snapped out "don't touch that", which Roger obliged, sitting down.

"It's not your case," Jack said sourly, grabbing one of the documents and reading over it. "Stick to your own missions."

While it was harsh to say that, in all honesty, Roger was creeping Jack out. Jack didn't really know if he were a violent psychopath or just a very creepy friend. Either way, Roger was odd. The way his normally violent and enraged temper flipped to a meek and obedient one around Jack was especially unnerving.

"Oh, sorry," Roger murmured, embarrassed. If anyone besides Jack had given that statement to Roger's face, they probably would've been punched.

"What is the case about?" Roger asked, fiddling with a rubber band.

"That's classified," Jack replied, keeping his head ducked over the files.

"But I want to help," Roger pleaded, voice eager. "I can take care of the more physi-"

"Roger, shut the hell up," Jack snapped.

Roger did; it was pathetic, the way he complied with the orders. Hell, Jack wasn't even a higher clearance level than Roger. They were equals. But Roger complied anyways. Jack just wished that Roger would stick to his own foul deeds and stay out of his.

Jack sighed, rubbing his head with one hand while flipping pages with the other. "Sorry, just stressed," he muttered. "Anyways, don't you have a case of your own?"

"I finished it already," Roger replied, a twisted smile on his face. "They haven't assigned me a new one yet. So can't I _please _help yo-"

"Fuck no," Jack replied, thoroughly agitated. "If you want to help then stay here, and work at the agency."

Jack cringed inwardly, preparing to work his magic. He was a great manipulator, but throwing bones to Roger always disturbed him. "I would really like that, Roger," he said, trying to take the edge from his voice. "If you stayed here at the agency and worked, kept things in order." He looked to Roger, making sure to stare straight at him. "I trust you completely to keep things in order, Roger. You know that, right?" he asked, smiling.

"O-of course!" Roger stammered, and Jack looked away.

This is pathetic, his conscious told him. Nausea wafted over him.

He left the agency a bit later, to begin his mission, and was quite relieved to be out of that building.

…

"Oh my God! I'm sorry!" Piggy apologized, having just stepped on a passer-by's foot. His balancing act with the groceries wasn't exactly going well, and he half-hopped and half-walked down the street to his Auntie's house.

The townspeople thought Piggy was a sweet boy, albeit odd. As such, the passer-by merely smiled and said 'It's fine', to which he said hurriedly 'THANK YOUI'MSORRY" and continued on his way.

"AUNTIE I'M HERE!" he blurted out, entering the door.

...

Ralph sighed, holding the scrap of paper.

He dialed the number.

…

"I have a terrible-" Sam started.

"hangover..." finished Eric lamely, as the two twins sat groaning in their college dorm.

…

"Percival!"

The fourteen-year-old stared at the teacher in misery as he was scolded. "Where in the world is your Algebra homework?" he demanded, palm slapped on the desk.

"...I...forgot it?" Percival asked, looking rather sick.

"Well, remember it next time!" the teacher snapped, quite irritated with the daydreamer boy. "Automatic zero. Next missing assignment means detention. Got it?" he asked. The boy merely nodded, garnering a "GOOD!" from the teacher.

…

The glass shattered.

Simon paused, his teacup held in one hand, his other hand automatically reaching for his pistol.

The window's shards burst against the floor. Immediately, he thought of the agents that were probably out to stop him from getting the information, finding out the secrets; stop him in any way possible. The gun was in his right hand now, his teacup on the table, and his eyes were alert.

From the now-open window came Jack, looking rather smug.

Of course, the surprise that Simon felt was very substantial. He hadn't seen Jack since he was twelve, four years after the island, when everyone had resolved to get together. Jack had been sixteen, and was quite...well, quite Jack, all-in all. He'd made no attempt to contact Jack afterward, assuming it would only bring trouble.

Judging by his now-broken window, it seems his assumption was correct.

"Hello," Simon said dully, pistol still in hand. "I see you've made a visit."

Jack chuckled, walking towards the boy.

Simon stared and aimed the gun at the older boy's chest. "Move and I shoot," he said calmly, struggling to maintain his composure. "I ask the questions. First, why did you break into my _window_? It would've been much easier to use the door...second, what are you doing in my house, period? Third-"

At that, Jack strode forward and shoved his own gun to Simon's head.

_Gulp. _

"I think you mean _I _ask the questions," Jack corrected pleasantly, giving a smile that made Simon feel as if he were facing an insane serial killer.

"Put down the gun, please," Simon said, body frozen.

"Well, we'll have to come to a neutral compromise, then. You put yours' down." Jack was quite calm, enjoying the moment.

Simon sighed. "I don't really have a choice, do I?" he asked absently, placing the gun beside him.

Jack smiled and sat on the coffee table, setting his gun next to him. "Well, it's nice to see you! Look at how you've grown."

The very unamused expression on Simon's face made Jack chuckle. "Alright, alright, let's get to business, then," Jack said. "I need to..." he pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket. "Yes. Okay, I need to...find you...Check! Alright then. Next, interrogate you." He stared rather venomously at Simon. "Where did you put the body!" he asked, eyes narrowing.

Simon stared at him. "If you're trying to be funny, it's not working," he replied.

Jack sighed. "Well, that's no good. I was hoping you'd at least laugh at the _absurdity _of the situation..."

No reply came, and Jack rolled his eyes. "Very well then. I need to ask you a few questions."

"Can you hand me my teacup first?" Simon asked.

Jack almost burst out laughing. This was Simon, alright, perpetually calm. This was probably the most absurd mission he'd ever been on, and the most amusing reaction he'd ever seen to a break-in. He smiled to himself. "Of course," he replied, grabbing the teacup from beside him and handing it to Simon.

"Well, at least you're a _polite _serial killer," Simon muttered, drinking his tea.

Jack raised an eyebrow. "Serial killer I am not," he replied, "but I do have good manners."

"Besides the whole 'breaking my windows' and 'threatening to shoot me' deal," Simon muttered dryly.

"Oh. Yes. That. We sort of got off to a bad start with that, huh?" Jack murmured wryly. "Now, I need to ask you about the others from the island."

Simon sighed. "Are you for us, or against us?" he asked miserably.

"I'm not working for the government, if that's what you're asking," Jack replied. "Now, please listen. Have you had contact with any of the island members recently?"

Simon stretched. "I've been talking to Piggy often. The last time I talked to Ralph was a year ago. I haven't seen you, obviously, since I was twelve, when we all got together and did that stupid recollection deal. I haven't talked to anyone else since then, either. ...Well, Samn'eric," he muttered as an afterthought. "They're perpetually high on life and in college. Which means that they're probably drunk right now," he murmured. "They visit occasionally."

Jack nodded. "Do you think you could contact any of them if you wanted to?"

Simon shook his head. "Piggy, yes, and I have Samneric's phone number. For the others...No. Ralph's changed his phone number, probably to keep suspicion away. I've never felt the need to talk to Roger," and at that Jack chuckled, "and for the rest of you I wouldn't have any way to."

Jack sighed. "Well, that's not very helpful," he noted.

Simon shrugged. "Well, I'm sorry," he replied. "Would you like some tea?" What he wanted to say was _Can you please get out of my house?_

"Maybe later," Jack muttered. "Well, I think that's it. Oh, wait," he said, holding the paper from his pocket in the air and squinting at it. "I also need to...work with you for the resistance." He rose an eyebrow. "I never imagined you'd be working for the resistance."

The dark-brown-haired boy looked away. "As soon as I found out some of the things the government was doing..." he shook his head. "Ralph told me about some of them, and I started to uncover even more. What could I do? Be a coward, and not...not stop this?"

The corners of Jack's mouth twitched. "Yes, their actions are rather unpleasant," he said. "Who do you work for?"

"...Who do _you_ work for?" Simon asked.

Jack sighed. "Paranoid, aren't you? The EFA."

"You mean those _extremists?_" Simon asked, obviously disgusted.

The red-head shrugged. "We mainly do information gathering, but what has to be done...well, has to be done. Those actions are carried out by a select few of the EFA. We do good deeds too, y'know," he muttered. "It's just that the murders are just a eensy-weensy bit more popular for the British news to report on than the whole 'feed the children' deal."

Simon sighed. "I'd expect as much."

The room was quiet for a moment. "So, are you willing to exchange information?" the boy asked.

Simon looked rather irritated. "Of course. I don't have a death wish." He motioned around the living room. "I've been studying the Class 6 cases. Trying, at least. I have an abundance of information on 6-15. I can give you some copies, but I'll need to keep the originals."

Jack nodded. "Well, I'd like for you to do a little more than give me already existing files. Could you do fieldwork?"

"...I work in the background and do detective work for the Alliance for Truth. They're somewhat dependent on me. I could see if they'd be willing to collaborate with the EFA."

"You better. I'd like some tea now."

Simon rolled his eyes. "Of course," he muttered, walking into the kitchen. "I always get rude house guests, you know," he hissed, while pouring the tea. "They come in and break into my house and eat my things. You are absolutely no exception."

Jack grinned. "Get used to it." Simon mentally groaned, but what could he do? After all, the boy had a gun. Well, two, since he'd left his in the living room. _Great._

…


	3. Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE- Ralph calls! Roger stares! THE PLOT THICKENS! Also known as 'the chapter where 'bloody' is used much too frequently'. Also, JackxDesk OTP. Hereforth referred to as Chapter Three. Also, for those fluent in TVTropes, I hope this story is the launcher of a thousand ships. I also hope that it is awesome. If it is not, please let me know. If it is, likewise. Review, and enjoy!

TO MY REVIEWERS-

THANK YOU FOR YOUR SUPPORT, CRITICISM AND COMMENTS. I appreciate it sincerely, and I will ship the kidneys to your houses next week.

Uh, I mean...no, that's what I meant. XD With that being said, thank youuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu.

…

Ralph dialed the number.

…

The phone rang at Piggy's house, and his Auntie grabbed the phone. "Hello? Oh! Peter, it's for you!" she said with a smile. "It's so good that you have friends-"

"Yes, Auntie," he said with a tense smile, grabbing the phone. "Hello?"

"Piggy, it's Ralph."

Instinct made Piggy first feel offended at the nickname. His second reaction was utter bafflement at the fact that it was Ralph.

"Oh, my God. Ralph." Piggy's voice quavered. "H-how are you? I didn't...I mean...Are you okay?"

It was silent, and then Ralph spoke. "I'm...okay."

Piggy breathed a sigh of relief. "Oh, that's great. Do you want to come ove-"

"No," Ralph replied firmly. He hadn't wanted to call Piggy in the first place, and going to the boy's house would only further arouse suspicion. He didn't want Piggy to get caught up in his work.

"I needed to ask if you've talked to Simon lately." He was speaking quietly.

"Yes. I visit him often...why do you ask-"

"Tell him to meet me at the AT headquarters."

"...What?" Piggy asked, confused.

"AT headquarters. Just...tell him that. He'll know what I mean." Ralph seemed ready to get off the phone.

"But-..Can't we even talk a litt-"

"I have to go. Goodbye." The phone rung dully, indicating Ralph had hung up.

Piggy sighed.

…

After about twenty minutes of unwelcome small talk, Jack finally got up from the table, stretched and seemed as if he were going to leave.

"I'll see you tomorrow, the-" he began, only to be curtly cut off.

"I don't believe so," Simon replied.

Jack quirked an eyebrow. "Oh, really? Why not?"

"Your presence irritates me. Do I need a better reason?" The brunet boy stared at Jack, as if daring him to say something, and then motioned for him to leave.

"Well, goodbye, then. I'll keep in contact about the cases-"

"_Goodbye_," Simon said abruptly, shutting the door behind Jack as he half-shooed and half-pushed him out of the home.

…

"Hello?" Simon asked irritably into the phone. "Yes? Piggy?"

…

Back at EFA headquarters, Jack asked a passing-by woman for some aspirin. Why? For the pounding headache that he was sure Roger would incur.

"You didn't get hurt, did you?" Roger asked testily, confirming his suspicions of an oncoming headache.

A knee-jerk reaction was to sigh, and so Jack did. Partially from the sheer stupidity of the situations he was in, exhaustion, and also the fact that he didn't like being interrogated. "Am I bleeding from a head wound? No," he stated, answering his own question. "I'm plenty alive and well."

Roger shook his head. "I don't know what's so important about this case that you won't tell me anything," he grumbled.

"Nothing's important about the case. It's just none of your business." Jack grimaced and pinched the bridge of his nose; the woman came back with the painkillers, and he thanked her before downing them.

Roger glared at Jack for a moment before sighing and placing his head on the table. "I'd tell you about my case today if you asked..."

"I don't want to _hear_ about your case. That's the fundamental difference between us. You have to know every bloody thing that happens anywhere at anytime. I, on the other hand, care about the important things." At that, the red-head opened a drawer briskly and started to tidy papers in an effort to get Roger to leave.

Roger didn't look up from his face-plant on the desk. "Well," he said, his words muffled by the wood, "what is that supposed to mean?"

"What is _what_ supposed to mean?" Jack was tired of beating a dead horse. To be quite honest, there wasn't even a horse to beat; it seemed as if Roger was constantly grasping on anything anyone said and twisting it to mean something else.

"'You only care about the important things'," Roger said.

Jack groaned. "I mean I care about what affects _me _and not why in the world this or that."

"Oh, so I bloody well don't matter?"

"Will you please _shut up?_" A compelling urge to punch Roger in the face filled Jack.

Roger's head rose from the desk, and he gave a harsh stare. "Why? You can't answer, you-"

"No, because every time I talk to you lately I get a headache." Jack's voice was dull now, and fighting a painful throbbing in his skull.

"I thought we were friends," Roger hissed venomously. "Even back on the island, we-"

"DON'T TALK ABOUT THE ISLAND!" Jack snapped, causing heads to turn and then look away uncomfortably.

The silence was almost painful. Roger stared at the ground and Jack looked away. The first one to speak was eventually Jack.

"I thought we were friends too," Jack said, grimacing. "But as of late it seems all you want to do is pick at everything I say and complain."

"That's not true." Roger's voice was quiet, now, and Jack felt a bit guilty. "I'm just worried about you."

Jack sighed, placing his head in his hands. He remained silent for a moment before speaking. "Roger, what is going to happen to me? I can go out there and I won't get shot or anything, I don't do those jobs. If anything-"

"I know," Roger interrupted curtly. "It's not logical. But if you die, then who've I got left? You're all I have now."

Jack froze, and his throat constricted. "What is that supposed to mean?" he asked, mirroring Roger's earlier sentiment.

Roger merely shook his head, rising from the seat. A hurt expression was on his face, which looked wrong; usually it was stern or angry. Never hurt. "I'm sorry. Never mind. Forget I said anything, okay?"

The pounding of shoes on the floor sounded loud to Jack, and he sighed. His head lay on his desk.

"Bloody stupid people," Jack groaned into the wood. "At least I have this desk," he muttered dryly.

…

"Meet who _where_?"

For the last ten minutes, Piggy had been excitedly rambling on the phone; so quickly rambling, in fact, that his words became mish-mashed and he sounded as if he were trying to eat and speak at the same time.

"ANDIREALLY-"

"Piggy! Calm down, please," Simon begged.

"Oh-ohkay," Piggy wheezed, not even bothering to get angry over the nickname. "Okay, well, Ralphcalledme."

Simon stiffened, unsure if this were good or bad. "Continue," he murmured thoughtfully.

"Andhesaid for you..." he breathed deeply, catching his breath; "to meet him at the AT headquarters. What is that?"

Simon struggled to maintain his composure at the mention of the Alliance of Truth. Piggy wasn't meant to know about the resistance, he muttered, only bits and details. Hopefully Piggy didn't know too much.

"Nothing important," Simon responded, lying smoothly. "I'll call you tomorrow, okay?"

"NO! Wait! I need your help!"

Simon frowned. "Fine. What is it?"

"Okay, Auntie's dog threw up on the carpet and it looks really gross and I don't know how to get the stain ou-"

The dull tone of a hang-up filled Piggy's ear.

"What ever happened to people saying 'goodbye' before hanging up?" Piggy huffed, putting the phone on the counter.

...

"Sammmm?" Eric groaned, rising from his bed.

Sam "uhmffghhyeah?"-ed in response.

"...Where is our television?"

Sam immediately popped up, looking around as his migraine threatened to consume him.

"Oh fuck! Where _is _our television?" A frantic expression covered Sam's face.

"...I don't know!" Eric, to be quite honest, didn't even know how he got into bed last night.

"...Crap!" the two said in unison.

"...Why am I naked?" the two asked miserably and simultaneously.

...

Percival was currently debating whether or not to ask a pretty girl out.

He decided yes, and basically flung the note at her.

She stared at the crumpled piece of paper and daintily opened it. Percival admired this, and took note of the way her slender fingers were shaped.

sarah,

i know that your with that thomas guy but wil you gow ot with me?

-percival

ps. i like your hair. did you get a perm?

Sarah turned around and giggled shyly at Percival. He wasn't exactly the best speller, but he was still sweet. And, why yes, she had gotten a perm! How nice of him to notice. She wrote 'yes, after I break up with thomas' and threw the note at his head, surprising him and knocking him out of his daydreaming. He opened the note, then grinned and smiled at her.

...

"Ralph. Long time, no see."

...


End file.
